


Convalescence

by legendofthesevenstars



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Backstory, F/F, Gen, Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 16:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20799836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendofthesevenstars/pseuds/legendofthesevenstars
Summary: Sent to stay with his swordmaster Judith while his uncle is sick again, Claude searches for the reason behind his family's illness and the purpose of his Crest. Judith, who already knows the truth, and never placed the same worth on Crests as her family did, reflects on her complicated relationship with the nervous, beautiful wreck of a woman who grew into a reserved, strong warrior, who gave her eyes, smile, and spirit to the boy now under her tutelage.





	Convalescence

Three knocks on Judith’s front door meant Claude’s arrival. Unexpected this time, but she always had his room ready, just in case. She opened the door, and Claude kicked it aside with a “Hey, Judith,” explaining as he entered with an armful of books and documents, “My uncle’s sick again, and my grandpa wants me to get out of the few remaining hairs he has, so they sent me here to stay and train.”

“What is all of that you’re carrying?”

“Oh, this stuff?” He set the books and documents down on the entryway table, then readjusted the strap of his suitcase, lifting it onto his shoulder so that it wasn’t pressing into the side of his neck. “Let me get unpacked and take off my shoes, then I’ll tell you all about it.”

He returned a moment later in his stockings, his hair still disheveled from the trip. At fifteen, he looked more like his mother than ever. The half-smile and the wide, bright green eyes, and the small spatter of freckles that surfaced underneath his eyes in the summer, marked him as unmistakably a Riegan. But the lack of red hair and fair skin would baffle anyone less familiar with his lineage.

He gestured to the stack of documents. “Grandpa gave me all of this before I left. He told me to do a little research on my family’s Crest and see what I could find out. He said it has to do with why my uncle gets sick all the time.”

“Has he seen your Crest yet?”

“Nope. I still haven’t been able to get it to surface. I’m surprised he even entrusted me with this stuff.”

“I’m guessing he hasn’t. They’re probably copies.” Before Claude could scoop up the papers and books and retreat to his room, she continued, “You won’t be keeping those on your bed. If they aren’t copies and you damage them, the old man might disown you.”

He pouted. “I wasn’t going to sit on the _bed_ to look at them! Do you really think I’d be that careless with my family treasures?”

She smirked. “I know you’ll actually be careful with those. Still, not the best idea to have something so fragile in the same room as your acids and chemicals. So they’re staying out here.”

He gathered the documents with a fake grumble, walking into the sitting room and taking his place in the big chair in front of the window. She followed, and stood behind him with her hand on her hip, watching him sift through the documents.

“These are medical forms.” He leafed through the lightly faded scrolls, talking to himself under his breath. “They’re old. So my ancestors got sick, too?”

“A hereditary illness?” Based on what Priscilla had told her, she’d always suspected a defect in the Riegan line. It would tie in well with the Duke asking him to trace how the Crest was passed down.

“Judith.” Claude turned around to face her. “Are you gonna look over my shoulder the whole time?”

“Oh, is this confidential? Sorry.”

He averted his eyes. “Knowing what my grandfather might say, it would be better if you left.”

“What do _you_ want me to do?”

“I think…”

He broke off in hesitation, paused for a moment to mull it over, then met her eyes again.

“I think I’d rather have someone to talk to about it.”

She nodded. “I’m right here. Go on.”

“My uncle’s kind of thin and frail. He’s always pale, and he’s got a bad cough. At first, I thought it was because he’s not very active. He just sort of sits around like most Alliance nobles. You know, the type that doesn’t go outside if he doesn’t have to and doesn’t eat very much at meals.”

She punched his shoulder lightly. “Alliance nobles just sit around and do nothing? Better watch your mouth, or I’ll make you run an extra lap today.”

He folded his arms and frowned. “Yeah, ineffectual nobility is pretty funny, isn’t it? Especially when I was talking about my chronically ill uncle.”

“Lighten up, boy. I’m just pulling your leg.” He’d do better to respect his family’s importance to the Alliance. But the truth in his criticism wasn’t lost on her.

“You pick the worst times for that. Anyway, the way he gets sick, it’s not normal. Every few weeks he’s got some illness, and sometimes he has to stay in bed for weeks at a time. It’s never anything serious, but my grandpa’s been worried that he might become consumptive because of his cough, and that would be the end of him for certain.

“Grandpa’s health isn’t great either, and he gets sick every month too, but he has the excuse of being ancient. My mom, though, was lucky enough not to contract the family disease.” His expression grew solemn. “In their eyes, that was the only lucky thing about her. They disowned her after she left home.”

Claude’s mother hadn’t had the disease, and she and Claude both bore the Crest. That all but confirmed Judith’s first suspicion that the illness had something to do with the presence or absence of the Crest. When she first met Priscilla, she had never thought much of Crests. Judith’s house had not borne a Crest for six generations, since the split, and she had not needed a Crest to become a powerful warrior. Neither had Priscilla, or so she’d always thought.

—

Compared to most successful warriors—and even her student, who claimed he’d picked up a bow before he turned ten—Judith started her training much later, in her early teens. She chose to study under a private tutor in Faerghus who was a master of weapons, in a class of mostly commoners, while her older brother attended Garreg Mach Monastery, where he met his wife. Daphnel and Galatea were on good enough terms, and neither the Kingdom nor the Empire had any reason to invade the Alliance, so she didn’t get the chance to use her knowledge until she enlisted in the military at eighteen.

After another conflict with Almyran forces trying to cross Fódlan’s Throat, the Alliance roundtable had decided to focus on border security, toughening up new recruits to serve at Fódlan’s Locket or in the mountains. Youthful and inexperienced, Judith was first stationed in the heart of the western half of the Throat. In the two years she was stationed there, she braved harsh conditions, emerging victorious time and time again, standing out among her fellow soldiers as a master of both terrain and warfare. Having proved herself, she was promoted, given command of her own troops, and moved to a strategically key location, a break in the woods near the Locket. It was there that she met Priscilla von Riegan.

The only daughter of the Leader of the Alliance, Priscilla was one of the most accomplished archers in the United Forces, deft with a lance and skilled at riding a horse. Though Judith could wield any weapon from axes to bows well enough and was particularly inclined to the sword, Priscilla’s talent with the bow alone far surpassed anything of which she was capable. Priscilla never lost her intense focus in battle either, and her stern, cold demeanor intimidated both allies and enemies. All in all, she was strong and reliable on the battlefield. Once she had stepped off of it, however, her composure shattered. She fainted. She wailed. She had panic attacks. In private, of course—she would never show weakness to her subordinates. The one advantage Judith had over Priscilla was that Judith actually had control of her nerves.

But outside of battle, Priscilla was calm and affable. They spent a lot of time together, hunting in the woods, walking around camp, or sitting and talking about their families. There was never much good news to share. Judith’s parents were very old and in ill health. She had been encouraged to take leave of absence but had declined after the doctors estimated that her parents had another couple years left. Her brother Raymond complained about having to keep politics in order, watch over their land and their ancestral home, look after their parents, _and_ look after his wife and son while Judith was out “gallivanting,” his less-than-affectionate name for “defending the border.”

And Priscilla, well, her brother was sick. And then her father was sick. If one wasn’t sick, the other one would surely be. Her parents were a bit younger than Judith’s, but she’d lost her mother already, and she was understandably afraid that she might lose her brother and father, too. 

“So your brother’s sick again? What’s wrong with him this time?” Judith asked her one evening, over a crackling fire, cooking the dinner she’d hunted for them—rabbit, Priscilla’s favorite. It was the least she could do for Priscilla after yesterday’s breakdown. Due to her own carelessness, Judith had sustained a combat injury, a minor cut on her shoulder, and Priscilla had blamed it on herself. She’d sobbed and apologized profusely all through dressing the wound. After every apology, Judith told her there was no reason to be sorry, though she hadn’t told her that it made her happier than anything that Priscilla was taking care of her.

Priscilla twirled orange curls around her finger absently, staring at a group of soldiers sitting around their own fire, distant from theirs. “My father says it’s a fever. He’s trying not to catch it himself, but in his letter, he said he felt a bit congested, so he might be coming down with a cold.”

“Why do neither of them ever seem to be well? Haven’t the doctors figured it out by now?”

She turned to face Judith. “They can’t pin it down to one cause. The individual bouts of illness are always different. Sometimes it’s a bad cold, other days it’s chills and a fever. Sometimes, it’s a stomach sickness. But other times, it’s just severe pain, like headaches and stiff muscles. After they get better, it’s a waiting game until the next bout sets in, and we do it all over again.”

“So that’s why they can’t make a clear diagnosis. To be honest, it sounds like they’re just sickly.”

“But there has to be a reason. Why has my health always been better than theirs?” She sighed. “I’ve gone on long enough. How are your parents?”

“Fine,” she lied.

In his last letter, Ray had told her that there had been a decline in her parents’ condition, and she would have to return home sooner rather than later. It was the last thing she wanted to do. She couldn’t stand being around Ray, and she especially couldn’t stand her parents. Every conversation nowadays was about their house’s situation, like there was nothing else to talk about. She’d much rather spend time with Ray’s wife. The woman didn’t really seem to care that her son hadn’t been born with a Crest, which irritated her in-laws, but she was a gifted baker, and certainly attractive enough. And it would give Judith a chance to spend time with her nephew.

“That’s a relief. You’re lucky that Ray is the least you have to deal with.”

He wasn’t the least Judith had to deal with, with her parents still pressuring her, even in their last throes, to find a husband and bear a child, but she didn’t want Priscilla, with the state that her family was in, to have to worry about someone else’s problems.

Judith folded her arms, frowning. “Your family’s whole situation is just absurd, hon. How come you aren’t affected?”

“I don’t know how I got spared. My father hides it well enough, but my brother always gets the worst of it.” She leaned forward, setting her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know what I can even do for them.”

“What we always do. Live and keep defending the border. If anyone’s going to uphold House Riegan’s honor, it’s you, right?”

Priscilla smiled a half-smile. The fire’s light reflected in her eyes. They were like clouded glass, green and clear, yet impenetrable somehow. “You’re so _noble_, Judith.” Judith couldn’t tell whether she was being earnest or just joking.

“Funny, my parents always told me I was ‘brash’ and ‘sarcastic,’” she said, rolling her eyes with a smirk, meanwhile trying to ignore how her heart had started beating a little faster at Priscilla’s compliment. “They never thought I was ‘noble.’ Not in the way they wanted me to be. Wearing dresses and curtsying and all that horseshit.” She waved her hand. “Nooo, thanks. Only tights and pants for this broad.”

“Judith!” Priscilla’s face flushed red. She tried to repress her smile by biting her lip. A _wide_ smile. Her glass eyes seemed to sparkle. “Your soldiers’ language is rubbing off on you.”

“You’re the one laughing.”

“I’m _not_ laughing.” Her voice broke on the last syllable. She sat back up, looking off to her right again. She absentmindedly brushed her fingers to her lips. Judith’s heart caught in her throat.

“You’re quite cute when you’re flustered, Lady Riegan.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Priscilla covered her mouth with her hand, cheeks still luminous.

“It means, ‘quit moping for a little so that you can enjoy this rabbit instead of wishing you were at home.’”

“Fine, I suppose I have to be happy when I think about how you caught it just for me. You big _sap_.” She turned to face Judith, removing her hand from her mouth. Her bright expression nearly made _Judith_ blush.

“Take it easy, hon,” Judith said quickly, before she could lose her breath to Priscilla’s sunshine.

—

The health records, written in ancient Fódlan, had presented a thrilling challenge for Claude. Judith only had a small library in her home and nothing with an alphabet of ancient Fódlan, so he’d spent an hour or so figuring it out himself. She’d let him work at the documents for a while before they went outside and trained. Exhausted from the journey and the day’s work, he’d passed out on his bed after dinner, and risen early the next morning to look over his notes.

“They could never put a name to it.” Claude stared intensely at the documents, as if waiting for something to jump out at him. “My ancestors who had the disease had many different illnesses at different times, so doctors could never trace it to a single disease, let alone try to cure it.”

“Just like your uncle and grandfather,” Judith said, cradling her morning tea, legs crossed at the knee.

“Yeah, they…” He cut himself off, looking up from the documents. “Wait, how’d you know?”

“Your mother never mentioned me, did she?”

He fumbled for a reply, but nothing came out.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to lie. I don’t know if she ever had an occasion to bring this up, but long before you were born, we served in the Alliance United Forces, in the war against Almyra.”

He frowned. “Is that so…”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Anyway, my grandpa sent along the family tree, and he wants me to compare it with the death information in the lineage record. I guess he wants me to see how my Crest was passed down. Not sure what that has to do with my family’s illness.”

Judith remained silent. She didn’t want to spoil his fun. He got irritated when you didn’t let him figure it out on his own.

“Speaking of which, what about your Crest, Judith? I’ve never seen yours.”

“Don’t have one.”

“You don’t?” His eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you did.”

She sighed. After only a few years of living in the Alliance, he’d started to figure out the whole Crest business. She had never been enthusiastic about Crests herself, being that Crests were the reason House Daphnel was crumbling. Those who didn’t know her family that well still called her a hero for her exploits in the war, conveniently forgetting the role Priscilla had played in the Alliance’s victories, and ignorant of how she had divided her house further.

After Ray’s son had been born, each of her parents had begged Judith to bear a child for them, to at least give it a try for the sake of their house. She was eighteen, devoted to training under her master, and she had no interest in marriage or children, so she told them she would never do that. They continued trying to convince her, and she continued to refuse. Just before her parents died—within a week of each other—Priscilla suddenly disappeared from camp, and Judith was required to lead the search party, since she’d been the last to see her. They never found Priscilla, and Judith left to return home as soon as the search was declared a failure, but she had been too late.

Ray had already been designated the legal heir to the Daphnel fortune. Her relationship with her brother had been strained for years, but her absence during their parents’ death was the last straw. He forced her to move out of their ancestral home and into her own residence, though he allowed her to remain on Daphnel land. She could keep all of her possessions, two servants, and a horse, but he got everything else, including her mother’s books, which had been the only thing she really wanted from their estate. It had been sixteen years since she had last spoken to him. He had gone into isolation with his family and refused to participate in politics, meaning that Judith was “officially” designated the leader of her house, and that Ray and his family were essentially as dead to the rest of the Alliance as his sister was to him. It was a shame. She missed talking to his wife, and she had never gotten to know her nephew. Maybe a great-nephew or great-niece would come seeking her one day.

She settled on telling Claude, “It’s normal by now. Nobody in our house has had one for the past six generations. But we’re fine without it. My brother’s married and has a son, and his children will carry on the Daphnel name even if none of them have a Crest.”

“Whoa.” Claude’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure what to ask about first, your brother or six generations without a Crest.”

“Well, I have an older brother. Now you know.”

“_Older_ brother? If he’s older, how come you’re the leader of your house?”

“It’s a long and complicated story, and, as much as I hate to deprive you of it, I’d rather not discuss it.”

Claude groaned. “Oh, come _on_. You can’t just wave something like that in front of my face and not expect me to continue asking about it. Even if it is too personal.”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I know. Doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you.”

“You’re terrible. All right, I’ll be respectful, and I won’t ask about it again. But tell me, how has your family gone _six_ generations without a Crest?”

“There was a split after some infighting. House Galatea in Faerghus took the Crest.”

“Galatea is just over the border, right?”

She nodded.

“Thought so. I didn’t realize Galatea was related to Daphnel. Well, are you missing out on anything special? What does the Crest of Daphnel do?”

“It’s supposed to strengthen the bearer’s attacks, so it’s nothing terribly unique. Yours is a healing Crest, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Self-healing. But, as you know,” he scratched the back of his head, cheeks reddening a little, “never when I need it.”

Judith sipped her tea to hide her smirk. She recalled all too well Claude’s various mishaps with chemicals and books, sometimes both at once. The first time she’d seen his Crest was when, half-asleep, he’d dropped a particularly thick encyclopedia on his foot. He’d screamed bloody murder, but he’d only come out with a minor bruise rather than a welt or a shattered nail. It was the first she’d ever seen a Crest manifest outside combat, and remembering that made her think she was on the right track regarding the purpose of his Crest.

She lowered her teacup. “You’re not as much of a klutz as you used to be.”

“That’s an encouraging thought. I wonder if my ancestors had more control over when their Crest manifested.” He opened a large folded piece of parchment halfway. “Here’s the family tree.” Then he lifted up a book. “And here’s the lineage record.”

When he picked up the book, a piece of paper fell out. “Oh, Grandpa included directions.” He turned the small note over to read it. “‘Look for causes of death in the lineage record. On the family tree, check which individuals are marked as Crest-bearing by looking for the crescent mark.’ Is that all I get?”

“What, do you need another hint?”

“Nah, I’ll give it my best shot.”

As she drank the last of her tea, Judith watched him pore over the documents. Claude claimed that he wasn’t that close with his grandfather, yet this quest seemed like it was designed for Claude, who loved to mine for knowledge like this. Maybe the Duke was fonder of him than Claude thought.

The old man’s note essentially confirmed her theory that the Riegan family’s Crest had protected both Claude and Priscilla. But even if a Crest could heal physical distress, it couldn’t heal emotional distress. Only time could do that.

—

Priscilla’s anxiety lessened as she spent more time at the border. She no longer had a panic attack after every fight, and she didn’t wake up with any night terrors either. Judith had always been there when she’d had a breakdown. To hold her hand, to stroke her hair and shush her. She’d been a ball of heat, her head against Judith’s heart. The ridge of her breastbone seemed to be the perfect place for Priscilla’s orange head to rest, like she just fit there.

Judith denied herself the kiss she so wanted to place on the crown of Priscilla’s head, because it felt wrong while she was so distressed. And yet, there was no time other than then, when Priscilla was most vulnerable, that she wanted to kiss that soft spot more. She had always wanted to kiss Priscilla’s lips, cheeks, nose, neck, smother her with affection until she was glowing with her blush. She settled for rubbing her back and smoothing down her bright orange flyaways.

When Priscilla improved, it irritated Judith for multiple reasons. One, she knew she might never hold Priscilla in her arms and comfort her again, not in the way that she used to, even if Priscilla trusted her more than any other person out there on the border. Two, she felt slighted that Priscilla was beginning to outperform her in more aspects than before. She had always been comfortable with her mastery of weapons, but now her inability to ride a horse was becoming an even more apparent weakness.

Three, men were beginning to rally around Priscilla, and not because of her increased competence. Judith, with her muscular frame and masculine demeanor, had usually been treated as an equal, not as a spectacle. Sure, she’d had to tell a few pigs that “my eyes are up here,” but she’d never gotten the amount of unwanted attention Priscilla now did. How dare they look at her that way, when they didn’t know about Prissy’s panic attacks or her sick family or the absurd faces she made when she tried to hide her laughter and blushes? It infuriated Judith. It started to get to Priscilla, too.

“They’re looking at me again, like it’s the first they’ve noticed I’m a woman,” she said, watching the pair of soldiers from the tent next to which she and Judith stood. She’d called Judith over to have an “important conversation”—a code phrase that meant she had to discuss something personal rather than strategy.

“Let me try something.”

Judith shot them a fierce glare, pointed between her legs, and made a cutting motion with her other hand. Their eyes widened and they turned their backs, scurrying away.

She smiled at Priscilla. “There you go, hon.”

“_Judith_! Did you really just—”

“Hey, I took care of them. Now, why’d you want to talk to me?”

“Can we go inside the tent?”

Judith shrugged and followed her inside, sitting across from her.

“Thanks for that. All this staring worries me. Have I really changed that much?”

“Well, that confidence isn’t an act anymore, for one. You’re a lot better at your job than you used to be. I’d say you’re inspiring them. As for that small yet vocal minority, I’d rather discharge them altogether.”

“Oh, Judith, you can’t discharge them for _that_.” There she went, trying to hide her smile again.

“Why the hell not? We’re the ones calling the shots.”

“But we don’t make the discharge decisions.”

“We should be able to. Just put women in charge of everything, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Come to think of it, the Archbishop’s a woman, and she _is _the most powerful person in all of Fódlan.”

“What about the Alliance? Four of the five lords at the roundtable are men. Get the ladies in there.” If House Daphnel were part of the roundtable, Ray would probably make her go anyway. He hated politics, because other houses always looked down on them. “Anyway, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll keep them in check if having them in your command is so important to you.”

“That’s a kind offer. I can always count on my Judy.”

Judith’s heart skipped with the pet name. “You know it, hon.”

“But anyway, now that I’m dealing with that, I’ve been thinking. About men, I mean.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “I’m concerned I won’t find the right husband.”

Judith froze. She could say nothing. What was there to say? _Why is it so important? Why does it matter to you? Is it really what you want, or is it just what your family wants?_ Priscilla had never talked about finding a husband before. Judith had always just assumed she felt the same way, that there was a lovely secret between them, too beautiful and dangerous to be spoken.

“Especially because I want to find someone who makes me feel at ease as I always feel around you, my partner in command. And I don’t really want to find him on the battlefield.”

_Him_. Judith swallowed, her throat dry. She thought of all the letters from her parents, asking if she’d found a husband yet. She’d stuffed them under the mattress of her cot or burned them in early morning fires, hoping Priscilla wouldn’t see them, that she could shield her, protect her. The least Judith had always wanted to do was maintain this idyll they had with each other. Hadn’t Prissy wanted that too?

“I mean, I say ‘him’ because I have to marry a man. I suppose if I loved a woman enough, but my family—”

“Spit it out,” Judith said finally. Her voice sounded stone cold, distant.

“I have to be the one to produce an heir. Godfrey, my father, neither have a Crest. I’m the only living bearer of the Crest of Riegan, and if I don’t have a child…” She hung her head. “The bloodline is doomed.”

_Then let it die_.

Priscilla couldn’t, of course. Her house had too much power. There was too much resting on her shoulders. But what did it matter to Judith when her own bloodline was dying?

_Let it die. It’s time._

“It’s the least I can do for my family. And I know I’ll find someone…” Priscilla trailed off.

_Open your damn eyes, broad._

_Right in front of you._

_Sure, go ahead, leave me._

_And after all I did for you._

Judith discarded every response that came to mind. She had nothing to say, so she said nothing. Priscilla’s green eyes looked empty, with none of the green-glass shine that she remembered.

“I’m sorry I never told you before,” Judith said. “But my parents always wanted the same for me. House Daphnel hasn’t had a Crest for years. But I’ve rejected every proposal, every possible marriage offer, all because it wasn’t what I wanted. I never wanted to get married. I still don’t.”

_All I ever wanted was…_

“So I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I’m sorry, Judy.” Priscilla buried her face in her hands. “I’m so, so sorry. I… I never knew.”

Judith considered telling her in that moment.

_All I ever wanted was…_

But the urge was fleeting, and she let the moment pass in strained silence.

_And you will never know._

—

Memories and thoughts of Priscilla kept her up that night. She hadn’t seen her in years, not since she’d run away. And then Claude had turned up. So Priscilla had done her job. And was she proud of herself? Was she enjoying her life wherever she was? That she had never mentioned Judith to Claude seemed to suggest she didn’t think much of their bond. But Judith would always remember those days. Always.

She rubbed her eyes and got out of bed, making her way to the kitchen to put on tea. She’d barely begun when she heard soft whispering from the sitting room. The boy was still awake, talking to himself again. She exchanged bergamot for chamomile and got the brown paper bag of shelled walnuts from the pantry. She stood there eating them until the kettle boiled, and she poured two cups and walked to the sitting room with the bag of walnuts in hand.

“Heard the teakettle, but you still scared the living daylights out of me,” Claude whispered. He had draped a blanket over his shoulders, and a candle stood on the table next to him. After he took a sip of tea, he met Judith’s eyes and began, “I think I figured it out.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“After looking at the causes of deaths, it seems that what Grandpa told me was right: the disease has been part of our bloodline since the beginning. But as the Crest diluted due to individuals marrying into the family, the death dates changed. Descendants who didn’t bear the Crest died very young, and the cause of death was listed as ‘unknown’ or ‘family illness.’ Those who did inherit the Crest lived longer and were more likely to die of natural causes. That means that part of Riegan’s Crest’s job is to get rid of that disease. That’s what it’s healing. Our hereditary disease.”

He paused for a moment, and his face fell. “It also means that the reason my mother never had the same illness as my uncle and grandfather is because she bears the Crest, and so do I.”

“I was right,” Judith said, without thinking.

“What? Did you know?”

“I figured it out from what your mother told me.”

“Looking at how the Crest gets passed down, I guess I got pretty lucky. It was skipping generations for a while. But then I was lucky enough to get it.”

“So you never had any health issues?” She couldn’t remember any. He always seemed to be in pretty good health, at least whenever she saw him. There was one time he’d had a cold, but it had cleared up quickly.

He shook his head, taking a sip of his tea. He leaned in and opened the bag of walnuts, grabbing a small handful. He finished chewing before he asked, “You knew my mom well?”

“More than that. I was lucky to know her.”

“I know I don’t look much like her.”

He rarely commented on his resemblance, or lack thereof, to his mother, so it was surprising to hear him say anything about it.

“Wrong,” she said.

“Really?”

“The eyes and the smile, most of all. You act like her sometimes, too.”

He smiled, a little wider than a half-smile. “Thank you for being willing to talk about my mother. Nobody really wants to, except you. I guess because you don’t know why they’re so mad at her.”

“No, I know what she did. She deserted the United Forces. Just completely disappeared. We went on an exhaustive search for her, and she was declared dead, though I never believed she was gone. I never told them about my suspicion, but I knew. Weeks before, she’d already been hinting at her great escape.”

“Oh. Well, that wasn’t exactly the reason I was thinking of. I never realized that she deserted.”

He hid his nervousness poorly, but he’d never reveal where she was. And since that was for Priscilla’s own good, Judith thought she’d let it slide.

“Did she ever have problems with anxiety?” Judith asked, sitting back in the chair.

“My father used to say she was a worrier, but I don’t remember her ever getting that worked up over anything.”

“That’s a relief.” Though what his father had said probably meant she’d hid it from Claude, if she still had problems.

“Did she have anxiety when you knew her?”

“Oh, she was awful for a while.” She shook her head. “She loved to fight in the moment, but afterward, she would just totally break down. After a while, she stopped that. I always calmed her down. I was always there for her.”

She looked at the floor. “Sounds like your father took my job.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” She met Claude’s eyes again. “Don’t worry about it, we parted on good terms,” she lied.

“Sometimes”—he made an exasperated noise—“I don’t know how to read you.”

“Just ask me then, boy.”

“Were you disappointed in her when she deserted? Because she betrayed you?”

“I don’t care that she deserted. The worst thing she did was deprive me of her company. She’s a wonderful woman. She was a valued and trusted friend and confidant, and your father’s lucky to have her. You’re lucky to have her.”

“But if she hadn’t deserted, you could have worked things out with her.”

“But if she hadn’t run away to whatever country you were born in, you wouldn’t be here. So take your pick, my feelings or your life. I’d say the choice is pretty obvious.”

“I just don’t understand why you still seem—_bitter_.” He rarely raised his voice, but she could see his brow furrowing. “My mother found someone she loved. Someone who helped calm her down. Aren’t you happy that she’s happy?”

“Claude, sweetie, I’m not bitter. As long as you say she’s fine, I’m fine with it. I’m done regretting things like that, and I’m sure Priscilla’s moved on, too.”

Seeing that his brow was still furrowed, she continued, “Look, let me put it this way. It’s not like I resent your existence. She loves you more than anything in the world, otherwise she wouldn’t have sent you back here to her family to carry on their legacy with your Crest. She loves you, and she loves your father. She’s happy, and I don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

“But she clearly meant a lot to you. Are you… jealous of my father and me?”

“That’s enough of that.” She hoped she hadn’t snapped at him. “Didn’t I just say everything was fine? There’s nothing to apologize for. Her decision wasn’t your fault, not any more than your ancestors’ disease is your fault.”

Claude’s expression slackened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press the topic so much, but it just seemed important to you. Not to mention that she never talks about when she was a soldier, or how she met my father, so of course I’m a little curious.

“But anyway, thank you for talking about it with me. I miss my mom a lot, but you know, sometimes I think you’re more like a parent than my grandpa is. I hate to say that because he’s my blood and my mom loves him, but he just ignores me all the time. Never wants to talk to me about her or anything like that.”

“Real sweet of you to butter me up like that, but I think your grandpa would have to disagree.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He made that whole quest up for you. He could have just told you. Hell, I could have just told you.”

“But then I wouldn’t have had the satisfaction of discovering it myself.”

“Exactly. A grandfather who didn’t care about you wouldn’t have picked up on that.”

“Huh.” Claude looked a little embarrassed.

She lifted her teacup to her mouth. He mirrored her. A short silence passed between them.

“Well now, boy, mystery solved. Get to bed. You’ll be up early for a full day of training after all that time you wasted deciphering that nonsense.”

“It was not nonsense,” Claude countered, though he didn’t frown, just smiled his Riegan half-smile. Standing up, he picked up the candle, then the bag of walnuts, tucking the latter under his arm. Judith didn’t stop him. “Good night, and thank you for the tea, Judith.”

“Night.”

She stood up, cleaned up the cups and teakettle, and shuffled back to bed. She lay there with her eyes open for a little longer, her head swimming with thoughts of Crests and Riegans. She couldn’t help but be thankful that Crest existed. Without it, Priscilla probably would have never had the chance to fight alongside her, and Priscilla never would have met her husband or had Claude. Another Riegan had entered Judith’s life after nearly twenty years, and even if there was no longer any space in Priscilla’s heart for Judith, Judith would make space in her heart for Priscilla’s son, especially now that she understood the unique blessing and burden of the Crest of Riegan.


End file.
